


Chances

by Annaelle



Series: Unbecoming Everything You Are Not [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, F/F, F/M, Feelings are had, Flashback, M/M, Multi, So Tony Throws Them A Party, Steve Tries to Be a Good Friend, Steve and Becca Are Going To DC, but they're trying, everyone is a mess, therapy for everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 02:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18420978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: Steve had done as Peggy said, and he’d asked Karen-the-therapist for references, and asked her for help, because he couldn’t do it on his own, and he needed to admit that too.And he did get better.He’d picked up a paintbrush again, and filled several canvases and sketchbooks with old memories, and several more with new ones. He’d started running every morning, and picked up the sparring sessions with Peggy’s niece and her infuriating boyfriend again, and when Fury asked him to accept a provisional job as an independent advisor for S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve said yes.Steve Rogers & Thor-centric. Canon Divergent. Stucky Endgame.





	Chances

#  Chances

## “Anytime That We Step Out Boldly to Make Changes,  
We Take a Chance That We Might Fail.  
But the Only Way to Get Better Is to Try.”

## —Joyce Meyer

## The Whip & Fiddle, London, UK

## November 5th, 1943

He hadn’t had much time to himself after he’d returned to the camp with Bucky and four hundred other former prisoners of war in tow. He’d not expected such avid responses from his superiors, and he had most definitely not expected to be patted on the back.

Peggy Carter had sat in on many of the meetings as their official MI6-liaison, and it had comforted Steve a little to see a familiar, semi-friendly face.

She, at least, had understood he could not _stay put_ while Bucky’s life was in danger.

If only _Bucky_ had felt the same way.

“What the ever-lovin’ fuck were you thinkin’, you reckless piece of _shit_?” Bucky’d shouted at him the very second he’d gotten Steve alone, shoving at his shoulder roughly, hard enough to make Steve bump back against the dirty brick wall in the back alley of the Whip & Fiddle, where Steve’s newly minted team had been trying to drink each other under the table.

Steve had _not_ been turned on.

He hadn’t been.

(He _so_ had been). 

“I had to,” Steve’d tried, biting his lower lip lightly. “Buck, they said you were _dead_ , and if you weren’t yet, you were gonna be! I couldn’t _sit and do nothin’_.” He _had known_ he could get away with a lot when he’d looked at Bucky like that, and given that this was the first time he and Bucky had been semi-alone since Steve had pulled him off a metal table in a factory in Austria, there were things Steve would _much_ rather have been doing than being yelled at.

“That’s _exactly_ what you shoulda done, you dumb _fuckin’_ punk!” Bucky had hollered. “ _You_ coulda died! I coulda already been dead—you would have been dead for _nothin’,_ Steve, _damn it!”_

“It wouldn’t have been for _nothin_ ’,” Steve had snapped, shoving back against Bucky for the first time. “If you’d been dead—I ain’t doin’ this without you, Buck. _I can’t_.” He had seen the fear burning in Bucky’s eyes and he’d _known, he’d understood_ —because it was what _Steve_ had felt the day Bucky had come home with a 1A, the day he’d had to watch Bucky leave for England without him, the moment Peggy had casually mentioned the 107th’s fate. “End of the line _together_ , Buck.”

“Stevie,” Bucky had sighed, softening immediately, reaching out to him. Steve’d wanted to maintain the distance for a second longer, had wanted to resist, because he had _still_ been angry at Bucky for yelling, but he’d always been weak for Bucky looking at him like _that_.

When Bucky had pressed his palm to Steve’s cheek, Steve had _melted_ into the touch, swaying towards Bucky almost subconsciously, slipping his arms around Bucky’s neck as the other man had slipped his around Steve’s waist, pressing their bodies close together in a way they hadn’t been able to in _months_ —since before Bucky had left for basic at Camp McCoy.

He’d rested his forehead against Bucky’s—briefly disoriented to find that he _could reach_ —and had exhaled shakily. “I got you, babydoll,” Bucky had whispered, rubbing his hands over the length of Steve’s back, like Steve was still five-foot-nothing and able to curl up in Bucky’s arms like he belonged there.

Steve had let out another shuddering breath and had pressed into Bucky’s embrace as much as he had been able to, relishing in the short moment they’d been allowed before the war would demand their attention again. “I was so scared,” he’d admitted in a rush, tightening his arms around Bucky. “When they said—and then I couldn’t—I was _so_ scared, Buck.”

“Shhh,” Bucky’d whispered, leaning forward to press a flurry of soft, small kisses to Steve’s cheeks, nose, and lips. “I’m here, sweetheart. You got me out. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Steve had leaned into the kisses, allowing Bucky to soothe the frantic energy within him.

He’d never liked being vulnerable—never liked been seen as _weak_ —but he’d never quite minded as much when it had been Bucky seeing him like this. He’d trusted Bucky enough to show him this part of himself, knowing the other man wouldn’t mock him for needing the reassurance. Steve had even admitted, only in the privacy of his own mind, that he’d liked it when Bucky guided him with a firm hand, when Bucky had shoved him around a little when they were getting _really_ into it.

“Buck,” he’d murmured, looking up at the other man from beneath his lashes. “I’m sorry.” For not telling you. For making you worry. For everything that happened. For not coming to rescue you sooner.

He hadn’t finished the sentence, but he hadn’t really needed to.

Bucky had shaken his head and smiled wryly. “Don’t you go blamin’ yourself for things that ain’t your fault, Rogers. Your shoulders may be bigger,” Bucky had smirked and patted a hand on aforementioned shoulders, “but you still ain’t gotta take the weight of the world on ‘em.”

Steve’s cheeks had flushed and he ducked his head bashfully.

He _had_ been worried, about what his best guy would say about his brand-fucking-new body, but it had seemed Bucky was just as appreciative as everyone else Steve had met so far. It had been both satisfying and exceptionally debilitating to his already fragile self-image. Had Bucky lied, when he’d said he’d loved Steve’s old body? Had he lied when he’d reassured Steve that he didn’t _need_ someone who was bigger, and stronger, and _healthier_?

“Don’t think I can’t see you overthinking,” Bucky had chided, stepping even closer to flick at Steve’s forehead. Steve had _not_ yelped, though he had to admit Bucky’s methods of distraction were solid. Steve had been, once again, fully focused on Bucky. “Wha’s going on in that pretty blond head of yours, Stevie?”

“Nuthin’,” Steve had lied through his teeth, averting his eyes from Bucky’s knowing gaze—he’d forgotten just how well Bucky knew how to read him and he’d been tired of it already.

“Awe, c’mon, doll,” Bucky had cajoled, pushing towards Steve again, jolting his hip against Steve’s and grinning innocently at him when Steve had halfheartedly glared at him. “Don’t be like that. You gotta tell me what you’re thinkin’, baby, or I can’t make it better.”

Steve hadn’t said anything—mostly because he hadn’t been sure _how_ to say it without sounding ridiculous, ‘cause he’d known that Bucky had loved him when he was smaller, and that he probably would now too—and stubbornly stared at his feet. He hadn’t fought it, though, when Bucky had snuck an arm around his waist and patted his other hand on Steve’s chest.

“Is it all this?” Bucky had questioned softly, tapping his fingers over Steve’s heart delicately before he’d slipped them down his stomach to rest on Steve’s waistband. “You afraid I was gonna be sore at ya?”

“Maybe,” Steve’d huffed when Bucky had tugged on his waistband, silently demanding an answer.

“Only reason I’m sore at ya is ‘cause you keep puttin’ your dumb ass in danger,” Bucky had insisted. “Especially when I ain’t there to watch your six.”

Steve had huffed, but had leaned into Bucky’s touch when the other man dragged him closer. He’d been without Bucky for far too long to risk spurning his advances now. Who knew when they’d next get the chance to sneak off together? “’s different though,” he’d murmured, ducking to bury his face against Bucky’s neck, slipping his arms around the other man’s waist to hug him close. “I’m different.”

He could almost _feel_ Bucky’s quiet revelation before he’d even said anything. “Oh. Oh, babydoll, is that what you thought?” Steve had barely suppressed the urge to whine when Bucky had pushed him back a little so he could look at him.

 _Barely_.

He hadn’t been sure what expression was on his face, but it seemed Bucky had gathered what he needed to know from his expression anyway, because he’d frowned, shaking his head sadly. “Stevie, c’mon. You know I’m sweet on ya, right?” Steve had pouted a little, but leaned into Bucky’s hand when he tracked his fingers through Steve’s previously neatly-combed hair.

“I know,” he’d finally sighed, leaning in to rub his nose against Bucky’s, to breathe him in, to _feel_ him. “But it’s real different. I wouldn’t—”

“Hey,” Bucky had interrupted. “I love the shit outta ya, Rogers. Big, small, sick, or healthy… End of the line, remember? And we ain’t there yet.” He’d grabbed Steve’s chin and forced Steve to look at him, to see the serious look in his eye, and smiled a little. “Okay?”

Steve had smiled, a little relieved, and had nodded as much as Bucky’s grip on his chin allowed. “Okay,” he’d said. “Okay.” Bucky had grinned and rewarded him with a small, quick kiss, before jerking his chin back towards the pub. “We should go check on the boys, get ‘em to the barracks. You got an early day tomorrow, _Captain_.”

Steve had shivered at the way Bucky’s eyes had darkened, heat pooling low in his belly. “Yeah.” He’d let Bucky pull him forward, back towards the raucous crowd spilling out of the pub. “Okay.”

——————

## Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, U.S.A.  
March 23rd, 2012

## Steve

Steve settled back into Tony’s comfortable sofa cushions, more relaxed and—dare he say— _happy_ than he had been in a very, _very_ long time. The increased frequency of his therapy sessions with Karen-the-therapist—with the noted addition of Karim-the-grief-counselor, and Alicia-the-VA-counselor—had done wonders for his state of mind, and had, eventually, helped him learn to tolerate, if not appreciate, the second chance at life that he had been given.

He’d not been able to, for a while, hadn’t been able to see past all the things he had lost.

It hadn’t been until Peggy and Gabe and Dum Dum had come to see him—barging into his apartment with all the bluster and noise of that unruly gang of twenty-year-olds that he remembered, not the ninety-year-olds that they now were—and quite literally slapped him up the head that he’d remembered that he’d _gained_ things too, in this century.

It’d been Peggy’s idea, initially, to work with several therapists, each with a different specialization, to help Steve acclimate and deal with things on several levels.

Steve had not protested.

He had learned long ago that his life was much easier when he didn’t put up a fight and just did as Peggy said.

Indeed, when he had finished sobbing on Peggy’s perfectly-pressed blouse, she had lectured him _very_ sternly, and Steve had been forced to listen, if only because he was afraid Dum Dum would try to make good on his threat to come sit on him and break a hip trying to get out of his wheelchair.

He’d cherished seeing his friends—his _team_ —again, and learned to appreciate the frequent phone calls which followed their visit, because Dum Dum was still Dum Dum, even if he was ninety and had a whole army of grandchildren now, and Gabe was still Gabe, even though he had somehow married Bucky’s littlest sister, moved to France, and had a whole brood of kids with her—just another link tying them together, one of many.

Peggy was still as strong and competent and beautiful as Steve had remembered her, and it’d helped to see her, even when he had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

But he had.

And so he’d done as Peggy said, and he’d asked Karen-the-therapist for references, and asked her for help, because he _couldn’t_ do it on his own, and he needed to admit that too.

And he _did_ get better.

He’d picked up a paintbrush again, and filled several canvases and sketchbooks with old memories, and several more with new ones. He’d started running every morning, and picked up the sparring sessions with Peggy’s niece and her infuriating boyfriend again, and when Fury asked him to accept a provisional job as an independent advisor for S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve said yes.

Steve found he liked the independence his position gave him within S.H.I.E.L.D., without taking away from his authority when he was asked to step in on a mission. He liked being able to _do_ something, to _help_ , even if help didn’t always look the way Steve would like it to.

He got to work closely with Sharon Carter’s boyfriend sometimes—Brock was head of the STRIKE team that Steve got assigned to most often—and he found that, though the man was annoying and cocky as hell in his personal life, Steve could appreciate his competence and utter professionalism while they were on the job.

He worked with Becca very rarely, which wasn’t much of a surprise, considering his own, relatively high position in the chain of command, and her relatively low one. The times they _did_ work together showed that they made an excellent team though, and when Natasha was added to the mix, they were so frighteningly competent it baffled even Steve himself.

That in itself had been a bit of a surprise to Steve—Becca had refused to speak to Natasha for a solid three weeks before she initiated contact again, and even then his roommate had been careful to keep her contact with Natasha strictly professional. Steve hadn’t blamed her; Natasha _had_ broken her heart, after all, in a pretty shitty way.

Steve had been _very_ upset with Nat too, although he’d been forced to give her at least a little bit of a break when Clint pointed out that Nat felt like utter shit about what had happened, and was doing her best to make up for it—albeit in a clumsy, slightly awkward way.

Despite Becca’s resolve to forgive Natasha, it had taken her a bit of time to be okay with even being in the same room as the other woman; especially when Clint had admitted he really would like to try dating Nat, if Becca was okay with him giving it a shot. Clint had been furious too, but—for reasons Steve didn’t even pretend to understand—he’d taken much less time to cool down than Becca had.

Becca had, naturally, not responded to the news of Clint and Nat dating as well as she probably could have, which led to Steve finding Maria Hill in their kitchen in her underwear at four A.M. at least twice, and one incredibly awkward elevator ride down to the lobby in the morning, where Becca had made sure to kiss Maria in full view of an equally flabbergasted and infuriated Natasha.

Steve was pretty sure Maria knew exactly what was going on and let it happen anyway.

So, when Nat had been assigned to a mission together with him and Becca, Steve had expected… _issues_ , to say the least. In the end though, they’d gotten their mission accomplished in half the estimated time range, and it was such a resounding success that Steve was _almost_ sure Fury might have smiled.

Their raging success was also why they had all descended on the common floor of the Tower—Steve and Becca would be relocating to Washington D.C. for an unspecified period of time, and Tony had insisted that it was the perfect reason to throw them a going-away party, as though he wouldn’t just fly over and break into their new, S.H.I.E.L.D.-approved house whenever he missed them.

Not, of course, that Tony would ever admit to that out loud.

“It’s a trick,” Clint insisted, breaking Steve from his reverie and waving his hand towards the hammer Thor had plonked down on the coffee table before they’d started drinking. Steve grinned broadly and leaned back into the couch, letting the conversation wash over him. 

All of the Avengers were sprawled across Tony’s excessively expensive furniture on the common floor, in various stages of inebriation, and Steve had had enough of Thor’s Asgardian mead to feel warm and tingly, with the room going just the right kind of fuzzy around the edges.

Becca was sprawled on her back on one of the sofas, bare feet deposited on Thor’s lap and her high heels abandoned on the floor, while her head rested on Nat’s lap. The redhead had looked at Becca with an exasperated fondness when the brunette gracelessly sprawled across her and Thor, but Steve caught the indulgent smile she and Thor exchanged too.

It was one of the first times since Nat had unceremoniously chosen Clint over Becca after their brief fling that the two women looked anywhere remotely comfortable around each other, and Steve was glad to see it, even if most of it was likely due to lowered inhibitions due to excessive consumption of alcohol.

Steve also hadn’t missed the contemplative looks Thor tended to give Becca lately, coupled with what Steve was mostly certain was Thor’s version of starry-eyed affection.

He’d been spending more time at Steve and Becca’s newly renovated Brooklyn apartment than he had on his own floor in the Tower or Asgard, and Steve _really_ wondered when one of those two morons would pull their heads out of their asses and make a move. Admittedly, he just really wanted Becca to smile again, and to stop moping over the—granted, really shitty—way Nat had dumped her, and he missed the carefree way Thor used to smile, before he’d lost…

Well, before he’d lost everything he’d held most dear.

Steve didn’t doubt that Thor loved Asgard, his father, and his friends, but he knew that none of them could ever come close to the kind of affection a mother inspired, and that no one would ever be able to replace Loki in Thor’s heart.

For a very short while, Steve had thought that maybe Thor would let himself seek comfort in Jane Foster, but he found out pretty quickly that he’d turned her down before anything ever really happened.

It seemed they’d managed to build a pretty solid friendship despite the initial awkwardness, along with a man named Selvig and someone Thor referred to as Lady Darcy.

Afterwards, however, Thor hadn’t really spent time with anyone but him, Becca, and the other Avengers.

Steve was sure Becca and Thor would be good for each other though, if they ever got over themselves and actually _tried_.

Of course, when Steve had brought it up with Thor, he’d bashfully tried to deny being interested at all, which was _a lot_ more telling than admitting it would have been.

Thor _never_ avoided questions about those he found himself attracted to.

It hadn’t happened often since Loki’s passing, but it _had_ happened, and Steve wasn’t _imagining_ the way Thor would gravitate towards Becca when she entered a room, or the way she blushed when she caught him looking at her, or even the—far from—subtle touches after battle under the guise of checking each other for injuries that might have gone unnoticed.

He couldn’t deny that the latter _was_ effective though.

Thor, apparently, had a pain tolerance so high he hardly even noticed when he did contract injuries.

Steve was abruptly torn from his thoughts when Tony booed loudly from his spot on the couch, where he was curled up with Rhodey, fingers linked together. Pepper sat cross-legged on the floor before them, discussing something or the other with Bruce with a very serious expression on her face.

Steve could probably concentrate to listen and figure out what they were talking about, but he was warm and comfortable and Steve wanted to _melt_.

Thor chuckled in response to Clint’s indignant squawking and shook his head lightly. “Oh no, I assure you, its magic is much more than a simple _trick_.”

His words were met with mostly incoherent protests—they _had_ been drinking for a while—and Becca’s poorly aimed kicks towards his stomach, which he easily contained with one hand. “Please,” he laughed, gesturing towards the hammer with his free hand, keeping Becca’s feet trapped with the other.

“Be my guest.”

The atmosphere in the room changed almost immediately from one of lazy comfort to one of eager anticipation, and Steve noticed that even Bruce and Pepper—and Jane, who was hanging out with them for the first time and had joined their discussion sometime in the last three minutes—looked between Thor and Clint curiously.

“Really?” Clint bounced upright and grinned brightly, seemingly unhindered by his slight inability to walk straight as he positively floated towards the table and the hammer.

“Yes.” Thor smirked as Tony booed at Clint and flapped his hand in Rhodey’s face to make sure he was watching too. Steve rolled his eyes a little at their antics, and he couldn’t help but grin when Becca grumbled at Thor while using his bicep to try to sit up straight.

It didn’t look like the most successful endeavor.

“Screw you, Odinson,” Becca huffed, drawing herself off the couch—moving remarkably steadily—until she collapsed half on top of and half next to Steve. “They’re stupid,” she told him seriously, pupils dilated a little and her breath smelling like the half a dozen glasses of wine she’d already had.

“They really are,” Steve chuckled, rolling his head a little to look at Becca, who seemed entirely content to use him as her newest body pillow. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it or didn’t like it—Becca was very tactile with her friends, and they almost always inevitably ended up in a cuddle pile when they tried to watch movies on the couch.

“You okay?” he asked softly, deliberately ignoring the shitshow going on beside him as Clint tried, in vain, to pull a highly uncooperative Mjölnir from the table. He’d seen Becca _really_ drunk enough times to know when she was playing it up a little, so people wouldn’t pay as much attention to her.

Becca blinked blankly at him for a couple of seconds before she sighed and dropped her forehead to rest against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she nodded against him. “Tired of Nat looking at me like I’m going to break every time I see her with Clint.”

Steve winced a little, because he couldn’t exactly _deny_ that.

For all that Nat could probably have gone about picking between Clint and Becca in a better way, she _was_ uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had _hurt_ Becca while doing so, at least.

They were torn from their soft conversation by a pillow thrown in their direction, followed by Tony’s outcry of, “Pay attention, you lovebirds! Interesting things going on here!” Before either Steve or Becca could say anything, Pepper slapped Tony’s knee and Clint and Nat booed at him in perfect unison, but the implication was there, _again_ , and Steve’s cheeks were so hot, he was pretty sure he was on fire.

He _hated_ that people assumed he and Becca were sleeping together just because they were of opposite genders and really close. He _hated_ it more when it was the Avengers implying it, even though he knew that _they_ knew it wasn’t like that.

They _did_ , and that’s what made it worse.

“Right,” Becca nodded seriously, raising an eyebrow at Clint in challenge. “Were you done trying and failing to establish your dominance?”

Steve burst into laughter at the indignant look on Clint’s face, and the rest of the group followed swiftly, Tony gasping, “Smell the silent judgement, Barton?” between hysteric peals of laughter.

“Oh, please,” Clint exclaimed heatedly, waving his arms towards the group vaguely. “I’d like to see you knuckleheads try to do it!”

“I’ll take that bet!” Tony shouted immediately, springing up from the sofa probably a little too energetically, narrowly avoiding tripping over Pepper as he stepped forward towards the table. Steve watched, amused, as Tony—clearly more intoxicated than he’d probably prefer to show—stumbled his way to the coffee table.

Rhodey facepalmed—Steve seriously loved that new word—as Clint laughed, leaning against Nat now, the redhead patting his head fondly as they watched Tony. “Here we go,” Nat hummed delightedly, eyeing Tony with a kind of predatory assessment that still threw Steve off sometimes.

“I’ve never been one to shrink from an honest challenge,” Tony boasted, coming to a stop before the hammer, looking down at it calculatingly before he looked at Thor. “It’s just physics,” he said firmly, ignoring Bruce’s snort at that.  “So if I lift this… I then rule Asgard?”

Thor nodded, lips obviously pressed together to avoid laughing. “Yes, of course.”

Tony nodded primly and pointed one finger at Thor, squinting at him suspiciously. “I will be re-instituting Prima Nocta.” Behind him, Pepper coughed delicately and raised an eyebrow when Tony froze, and then slowly pivoted to look at her.

“ _Will you_?” she asked pleasantly, leaning back against Rhodey a little.

Steve couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter at Tony’s wide-eyed expression. “ _No?”_ he backtracked, flapping his hands at Rhodey and Pepper uselessly. “I was just kidding?” The shrill question at the end really sold it.

Pepper rolled her eyes and smiled. “Go pick up the hammer, Tony.”

Tony saluted her sloppily, spinning on his heel and nearly face-planting onto the table. “Yes, ma’am,” he shot back cheekily, wrapping his hands around Mjölnir’s handle and grunting a little when he _pulled_. Mjölnir, predictably, remained on the coffee table. Steve chuckled at the look on Tony’s face when he failed to lift the hammer, but couldn’t say he was entirely surprised when Tony muttered, “I’ll be _right_ back. No one try before I get back!” and ran off.

Becca huffed a laugh and sagged back against Steve a little, for all the world looking like she was close to falling asleep, but Steve knew she was really just settling into a prime position for people-watching. In this case, of course, that meant watching as Steve’s team made idiots of themselves trying to lift a hammer that was legendarily hard to lift.

Tony reappeared with one of his armored gauntlets, gleefully insisting it would help him lift the hammer.

Predictably, that did not work either.

Steve grinned along with Thor when Tony recruited Rhodey—though Steve had to admit the latter looked more reluctant than excited to aid Tony in his quest—with the Iron Patriot’s armored hand, and gratefully allowed Thor to fill up his glass again.

“Sláinte,” Steve said, lifting his glass towards him in thanks without dislodging Becca from his side.

The Irish Gaelic phrase still came to his lips as easily as the English toast would have, even though he hadn’t spoken more than a word of it here and there to anyone since his mother had passed. Bucky had only known a few words, at most, and he’d always been more drawn to the Yiddish words his own mother had taught him.

It was… _comforting_ , to have someone like Thor here, who may not _know_ Gaelic the way Steve did, but who understood when Steve spoke it nonetheless, who did not _mind_ when Steve reverted to the comfort of his native tongue—he hadn’t even learned proper English until he was four and he met Bucky.

“Skål,” Thor replied enthusiastically, thrusting his glass forward so eagerly that some of the liquid sloshed over the edge. Steve didn’t miss the way Thor’s eyes strayed to Becca, who was still staring intently at Tony and Rhodey unsuccessfully trying to lift Mjölnir.

The others seemed to have lost interest in the two men—Pepper had returned to her conversation with Bruce and Jane—and Clint and Natasha were quietly talking, switching between sign language and spoken words fluently, like they’d been doing it for decades… which they probably had been.

Steve smiled a little and nudged Becca. “Thor’s looking at you,” he murmured, sipping casually at his drink when Becca stiffened a little, shooting a quick glance towards Thor before she settled back against Steve.

“So what?” she huffed semi-casually. Steve wasn’t really fooled at all.

“Becs,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over her shoulder comfortingly. “Come on. You can’t sulk about Nat forever. And Thor actually _likes_ you.”

“Not sulking,” Becca pouted. “It’s been like three months; I’m _over it_. And I’ve hooked up with… _plenty_ of people. Doesn’t mean I should start hooking up with my friends too.” She sat up and glanced around with a slight frown. “I’ve slept with way too many people in this room as it is.”

Steve glanced around as well and frowned. “I thought you’d only slept with Tony and Nat?” he blurted, possibly slightly too loud, if the way Nat looked at them in confusion was any indication.

“Yeah,” Becca deadpanned. “Thanks, Steve, I know that.”

Her cheeks were flushed and she was a little hunched in on herself and Steve immediately felt like a fathead for pushing her. “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I just…” He shrugged helplessly and looked at her seriously. “I wanna see you smile again. I want you to be happy.” He nodded stealthily towards Thor, and Becca smiled weakly as Steve said, “I don’t know if seeing what could happen between you and him would make you happy, but…” he shrugged again and bit his lip. “Isn’t it at least worth considering?”

Becca looked at him, eyes wide and expression vulnerable, before Tony _rudely_ interrupted by yelling, “Let’s go, Steve—your turn! No pressure!”

Steve groaned, thumping his head back on the couch. “I don’t wanna,” he whined, glaring at Tony playfully, pushing his lip out into a pout. “We’re comfortable here.”

“Nah,” Becca said, voice tight, but her smile deliberately exuberant. “Go lift the hammer. I’m gonna take a breather anyway.” She added deed to words as soon as she said it, pushing herself away from Steve without looking at him.

Something deep inside Steve’s chest _twisted_ , and he felt like a heel for pushing the subject, even when she’d already given a pretty clear indication she didn’t want to talk about it. “Becs,” he pleaded, reaching for her wrist, careful to not exert too much pressure. She looked at him with that same devastating expression and smiled tightly, pulling her wrist from his grasp.

“I’m fine. Just need some fresh air.” She gestured to the others, who were watching their exchange with expressions ranging from interest—Natasha and Tony—to concern—Thor and Pepper and even Jane. “Go show off those biceps, Rogers.” She gave him an exaggerated wink—poorly concealing her sudden melancholy—before swiftly exiting the circle the couches and chairs made around the table and heading towards the balcony, only twelve feet away.

Steve stared after her for a second, the room entirely silent for a heartbeat before Thor shot to his feet, gesturing towards the balcony door less than subtly. “I also… I could do with a breath of fresh air. I’m afraid the mead has gone to my head.” Steve stared at him, painfully aware that Thor had probably heard everything Steve had said to Becca, painfully aware that he’d probably pushed them both into admitting something neither of them was ready for.

He watched through the glass door and wall as Thor stepped up to Becca awkwardly, and then Steve turned away abruptly when Thor moved even closer still.

“Well, _that_ was awkward,” Tony exclaimed, throwing himself on the couch beside Rhodey and pulling Pepper up to snuggle against his other side. “Wonder what they’re talking about.”

“Nothing much, probably,” Steve deflected, stepping forward so he was blocking the other’s view of Becca and Thor. “So, I bet I can lift this thing.”

“ _What_?” Tony exclaimed loudly amongst a chorus of ‘boos’ from the others. “You can’t.”

“Man, it’s rigged,” Clint said again. “Betcha only Thor can lift that thing ‘cause it needs his fingerprints or something.” Natasha didn’t say anything, just eyed him contemplatively, and Steve was almost sure she knew exactly what he was trying to do.

She didn’t call him out on it though, merely raised an eyebrow and smirked in that peculiar way of hers. “Well then, Rogers. Put your money where your mouth is.”

“I don’t know,” Steve drawled, grinning a little as he reached for the handle, looking up at Stark from beneath his lashes. “What do I get if I can do it?”

“Pfft,” Tony snorted. “Whatever the fuck you want. _But_ ,” he leaned forward eagerly. “If you can’t, you have to come to the next gala and perform the U.S.O. routine.” He waggled his eyebrows and added, “ _with_ the motorcycle and the girls—and the costumes! I’ll set it all up.” The others hooted, and normally, Steve would feel embarrassed by the mere mention of the goddamned U.S.O. tour, but he had an ace up his sleeve, and he wasn’t afraid to use it to keep the other Avengers’ eyes on him.

“Deal,” he smirked. “If I lift this, you do _whatever_ I want. If I don’t, I’ll do the U.SO. routine. You sure you wanna do this, Tony?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony nodded eagerly, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Bring it, Capsicle.”

Steve chuckled, tightened his grip on Mjölnir’s handle and grinned up at Tony. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that, Stark.” He gave Tony half a second to look smug, making sure to strain his muscles, to make it look like he wasn’t gonna be able to do it—and then lifted Mjölnir, flipping it over and catching it effortlessly.

Everyone gaped at him, and Steve smirked. “Didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

——————

## Thor

He was, honestly, quite unsure of what he would say once he caught up to Lady Rebecca.

Thor had never been one for flowery words or grand speeches. Loki had always been the one to charm his way out of trouble simply by the virtue of being verbose, and while Thor missed Loki every single day, he felt Loki’s absence—and the absence of his silver tongue—painfully in this moment.

Rebecca— _Becca_ , he reminded himself—sat with her back towards the door, cross-legged on one of the raised ledges that looked out over the city, arms wrapped around her torso in a bid to ward of the chill of the evening breeze; or to shield herself from the emotional turmoil Steven’s words had stirred up inside of her.

Thor felt slightly shamed that he could not yet read his friend well enough to tell which it was.

He and Becca had spent much time together since he had absconded from Asgard and its painful memories and his father’s crushing expectations, and he liked to think they had built a solid friendship in that time, as he had with Steven. He had even, in his most private moments, allowed himself the illusion of finding comfort in her arms, though he knew the feeling would likely never be requited.

Rebecca, like Steven, seemed woefully loyal to whoever she gave her heart, whether said affection was returned or not.

“Are you alright?”

The words tumbled from his lips without permission, and for a moment he feared he’d startled her. When she turned and looked at him though, he could see the distinct lack of surprise in her expression, instead replaced with something that felt far more reminiscent of tired resignation.

It was, sadly, an expression not unfamiliar to him.

Many of those he held dearest to heart had leveled said expression at him in his not-inconsiderable lifespan, and he wondered if he should begin to take note of when such occurrences happened.

“I guess there’s no use in pretending you didn’t hear every word Steve said to me, right?” she said lowly, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. Her cheeks were still slightly rosy—from embarrassment or drink, he did not know—and Thor was sure she did not know how alluring she looked, because he knew she would never look at him like this on purpose.

If anything, he would say she had been going out of her way to appear _less_ appealing, at times.

She confused him greatly.

“I suppose I could pretend,” he offered, smiling a little at her wry smile. “If it would help.”

Becca snorted and shook her head, long locks spilling forward across her shoulders as she shifted, turning around so she was facing him. Thor smiled helplessly and moved towards her, until he stood directly in front of her, knees pressed against the cold concrete of the ledge she sat on.

“Was he wrong?” she asked abruptly, cheeks darkening into a full blush as she averted her eyes.

Thor opened his mouth to respond—though he did not know if denial or confirmation would have fallen from his lips—but he found he did not know _what_ to say. Steven, for all his virtues, seemed under the impression that Thor’s feelings for Becca ran a lot deeper than friendship and attraction, and Thor wasn’t sure that was the case.

He had never allowed himself to develop deeper feelings for anyone, and he did not think he _could_.

In that, at least, he and Steven stood united.

He had never truly understood Steven’s devotion to a dead man until he had lost Loki—until he was forced to face a future that looked radically different from the future he had always imagined he would have. He’d _loved_ Loki, for all his faults, in every way he knew how, and he did not want to let go of that love, _ever_ —nor did he think he was even capable of letting said love go.

“I don’t know,” he replied eventually, shooting for honesty, because Rebecca was his friend, and while he was not in love with her, he did care for her a great deal, as he did all his Midgardian friends. Perhaps a _little_ more. “I do not think he was entirely right,” he admitted, “but he was not wrong.”

“What does that even mean?” Becca exclaimed, exasperation dripping from each word.

Thor smiled sadly and shrugged one shoulder. “I apologize. I know it doesn’t clarify anything, but…” He looked up at her and shook his head. “I’ve not found myself in this position before either.”

Becca didn’t say anything, but her raised eyebrow spoke _volumes_ , and Thor smirked a little before he settled in to lean against the waist-high ledge next to her. “I’ve taken great care in ensuring I did not grow attached to my previous… entanglements. Should we act on any of our _urges_ …” he grinned at her when she smacked his shoulder playfully.

“I already care about you,” he finally admitted. “I’ve no idea how to proceed, how to…”

He stopped abruptly when she lunged forward, curling her fingers around the back of his neck to smash their lips together in a breathless, messy kiss. She stole the breath from his lungs, and he barely had the opportunity to relish in the taste of her lips before she retreated, almost as abruptly as she had leapt forward, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, and lips decidedly redder than they had been.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, shaking her head a little, “I just thought—and you—I know we shouldn’t.”

Thor blinked at her, opening and closing his mouth several times before he actually managed to say something. Her fingers were still curled in the collar of his shirt, and she was still leaning against him, and the weight of her felt warm and comfortable and it was an exhilarating, unfamiliar feeling he was loath to let go of.

Thor decided that perhaps, it did not need to be so complicated at all.

Perhaps, what they were could be very simple indeed.

“Perhaps we should,” he murmured absently, finding that he could not tear his eyes from her full lips. “I cannot see fault in two friends finding comfort in each other’s arms.”

She gasped quietly when he leaned in again, but eagerly kissed him back when he pulled her into a second kiss, far deeper and hungrier than the first. It was _easy_ , to lose himself in her eager touch and in the sensual slide of their lips, and _easy_ to let her draw him closer. He curled his fingers in her hair and around her waist until they were pressed together entirely and so tightly he could not tell where she began and he ended.

Kissing Rebecca felt _different_ than kissing anyone else had, and _different_ than kissing Loki had, but it still felt like allowing the lightning that perpetually hummed beneath his skin to run free.

She moaned quietly against his lips, a deep, wanton sound that abruptly reminded him that they were still in plain view of the other Avengers, and that there would only be so long Steven could distract them before they got past their politeness and came looking.

Slowly and very, _very_ reluctantly, he leaned back, barely able to hold back a groan when she refused to let him go, pressing her fingers against the back of his neck insistently and whining quietly when he persisted in breaking the kiss. “Hush, _krúttið mitt_ ,” he whispered warmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She quieted down, but remained pressed against him, having slipped from her cross-legged position to curl one leg around his. “We have to do that again,” she said, quite matter-of-factly.

He grinned, leaning in to press a single, lingering kiss to her lips before he disentangled their limbs. “Come,” he smiled, offering her his hand when she pouted. “They’ll miss us before long.” They did not speak more, but the restless ache inside his chest had been soothed, and when she slipped her slim fingers between his, the worry that he had somehow ruined their friendship dissipated.

He still could not help but smirk when he overheard her whisper _‘wow’_ to Steve when they went back in. Said smirk only grew further when he heard his friend reply with a muttered ‘ _I know, right_?’ Thor settled on the sofa again, smiling a little when Becca—who had resumed using Steven as a pillow—stretched to press her toes beneath his thigh.

Anthony sat with his lovers, Lady Pepper’s fingers tangled in his dark brown hair and Colonel Rhodes leaning back against his leg. Natasha had looked up at them with a contemplative expression when he and Rebecca re-entered from the balcony, and for a moment Thor feared she would say something, but the moment had passed, and she had returned her attention to Barton.

Bruce had engaged the Lady Jane in a spirited conversation, and Becca and Steve were quietly murmuring and giggling together, and for once, the ache in Thor’s chest receded, leaving a contented warmth in its absence.

He was, at least for now, at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all she wrote! 
> 
> The next part will be a bigger work, taking place during canon-The Winter Soldier era. 
> 
> Thanks to Juulna for putting up with me :D 
> 
> Lots of Love,   
> Annaelle


End file.
